Unnatural Predators
by Scarlett Burns
Summary: Brutal killings and mysterious symbols left at crime scenes force Detectives Nick Knight and Don Schanke to track down a preternatural predator.
1. Chapter 1

Crossover: Forever Knight/Dark Shadows

Summary:  
Brutal killings and mysterious symbols left at crime scenes force Detectives Nick Knight and Don Schanke to track down a preternatural predator. However, the clues soon lead to an old estate - Collinwood - and something even more sinister.

Author's Notes:  
This story is set in the year 1995.  
In the "Forever Knight" timeline this story takes place towards the end of season 2, sometime after _Bad Blood_.  
In the "Dark Shadows" timeline this story takes place after the end of the series.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

A heavy gust of wind whipped through the small cluster of trees to his left. The dim light of the streetlamp a few yards away lightly touched the trees with a diffused yellow light as the leaves and branches swayed in the wind. A suspiciously crimson substance clung to the base of the nearest tree trunk, and grass surrounding the victim, catching the light like some morbid morning dew.

'_Leu garoul.'_ Nick Knight heaved a long suffering sigh at the heavy feeling of dread.

He hated werewolves.

Sure, he could sympathize with their situation, but it was hard to reason with a preternatural wolf.

It was possible that, as an eight hundred year old bloodsucking creature of the night, he wasn't really one to talk, but he'd had enough encounters with the beasts in the past to know how brutally lethal they could be. The proof of such primal force was lying before him… in pieces.

Nick closed his eyes, momentarily shutting out the gory sight. He drew in a deep breath, fighting down his own preternatural urges. _Am I any better?' _The thought entered his mind, unbidden, and with it came the hunger.

Blood.

It was the first scent that registered in Nick's mind. With a tight clench of his jaw he ignored his instinctual desires and confirmed his initial suspicion. The faint odor of a werewolf still lingered on the corpse, and hung heavy in the air surrounding them.

"Man oh man, get a load of that!" Schanke declared, pushing past Nick. "Reminds me of the sicko who tore up that football player."

Nick opened his eyes, once again taking in the carnage. He'd seen werewolf victims before, but had hoped to never see another. In this day and age, werewolves were few and far between. The supernatural paranoia during the 1500s that spawned mass witch hunts not only killed countless innocents, but a great deal of the unnatural creatures who wore the guise of humans as well. Werewolves were not spared from the hunts. Indeed, in Europe the pursuit of the feral beasts outnumbered that of witch hunts for a time.

"You don't think we have some sort of copycat, do ya?" Schanke asked, referring to their last eerily familiar case. That time a vampire had been the culprit. Little did Schanke know that he'd helped stop non other than Jack the Ripper.

"I don't think so, Schank. Looks more like…" Pausing, he belatedly wondered if he should tell Schanke what he knew, or let Natalie explain it once she arrived and had a good look at the body. At Schanke's impatient glare, Nick decided that it really couldn't hurt to tell him, since his partner was bound to hear it sooner or later. "Seems more like an animal attack. Maybe some sort of wild dog or wolf."

Nick slowly circled the crime scene, and then stopped when he got a clear view of the neck wound. Motioning Schanke over, he pointed to the deep gashes across the neck. "Unless you know a guy who can nearly decapitate someone with his fingernails, I'd say our suspect has large, sharp claws."

Schanke grunted appreciatively at the observation. "Maybe someone forgot to feed their cat."

Nick quirked an eyebrow at his partner, but didn't bother to comment. If the werewolf was just passing through, then there may not be much problem. Everyone would just chalk it up to another mysterious animal attack and be done with it.

On the other hand, if a werewolf who was unable to control his transformations or urges had picked Toronto as a place of residence then they were in for a hell of a case.

* * *

_Outside of Bedbur, Germany  
1589_

The sound of something in the nearby foliage caused Nicolas to halt his horse so that he could listen more closely, and his keen senses picked up a heartbeat ahead. His Arabian snorted in distaste, shifting its weight anxiously. Whether this action was caused by the nearby visitor or from the unwanted break in its stride, he could not be sure.

Deciding that the sounds were distinctly animal in nature, Nicolas spurred his horse onward, both toward the mysterious animal and his destination. He did not have the luxury of time, and a wild animal was hardly a concern to one of his _special _constitution.

Although the thick clouds and morning mist that normally hung low in the air around the Rhine River and nearby villages of Collin and Bedbur would provide him some protection to the morning light, he didn't wish to stretch his luck, or cause himself unwanted attention at his arrival in Bedbur.

The sounds of the animal only accompanied his travels for a short time before they too disappeared into the dense forest. The animal did not leave, however, without a lengthy bay of adieu, and Nicolas' question of what had been in the dense foliage was efficiently answered.

At least, that is what he believed at the time. He didn't give the unremarkable event much thought until the next evening.

* * *

Nick shook himself out of his reverie when he heard Natalie approaching behind him. "Hey Nat," Nick greeted without turning around, still preoccupied with the thought of having to track down a werewolf in Toronto. He was going to have to fill Natalie in once she got the body back to the morgue.

"A little late, aren't we Dr. Lambert?" Schanke chided playfully.

"Sorry guys. It's been a busy night," she said by way of explanation as she took her first look at the body. After a moment, she shook her head and muttered, "What is it about a full moon that makes the world go crazy?"

Pulling on a pair of latex gloves, Natalie quickly got down to the grisly task of examining the body. Nick felt the vampire stir within him, attempting to break down the walls of his self control. Leaving Natalie to her job, he moved away from the body and toward the patch of trees nearby.

He really hated the bloody ones. It wasn't the sight that bothered him. He'd witnessed far too much death, murder and war in his long life to be squeamish about the harsh realities of life. What truly bothered him was his reaction to such scenes. The most powerful reminder of his lost humanity was the hunger that gnawed at him now; the hunger and urge to prey on the humans bustling hurriedly around him, oblivious of his true nature. The vampire's desires surfaced forcefully, as they always did when there was the heavy scent of blood in the air.

Heaven help his miserably damned soul, he missed the hunt. Even now, as he fought to regain his humanity in whatever way he could, part of him longed for the hunter's challenge… and worst of all, the kill. He loathed the thoughts that stirred in his mind, and after a moment, was able to regain his control by focusing on the case before him.

Studying the blood spattered trees, Nick looked for any evidence the leu garoul may have left behind. It didn't take long. About four feet up from the ground, scratched into the bark of the center tree, was an oddly familiar looking symbol.

As Nick leaned in for a closer look, he was able to decipher what was roughly drawn into the bark. It had been so long since he'd seen the symbol, it had taken a moment for its meaning to register.

It was an inverted labrys; an ancient symbol that he'd been familiar with even before he was brought across, as a knight in the crusades.

Things had just gotten a whole lot stranger.

Frowning, Nick looked up from the symbol as Schanke called him over to hear Natalie's preliminary report. Nick walked back over to join his partner and waiting M.E., stopping only to point out the newly discovered symbol to the crime scene photographer. It was against his better judgment, but it was going to be found either way, and he didn't want to explain why he hadn't told anyone about a symbol he'd been standing in front of for several minutes.

"I'd say the time of death was between 10 and 11pm. At first glance, it looks like a pretty brutal animal attack. I'll have to take her back to the lab to pinpoint an exact cause of death, although I'd say blood loss would be a fairly accurate guess at this point." Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that they were beginning to bag the body. "Do we have a positive ID?" she asked after a moment, turning back towards Nick and Schanke.

"Not yet," Nick answered. "No ID found on the body. Looks like she was out for a late night jog. No one saw what happened, although several people did hear her screams."

"Yup, nothing much to go on there, either. No one saw anyone or anything other than the victim," Schanke finished, rubbing his palms together in a futile attempt to thaw his frozen hands.

Natalie nodded. "Guess I better get started then. I'll let you two know as soon as I have something."

"Let's roll, partner!" Schanke announced as Natalie walked away. "Nothing more we can do here," he added, hurrying back towards Nick's caddy before Nick even acknowledged his words.

"Yeah," Nick agreed distractedly as he watched forensics poor over every inch of the crime scene. He slowly made his way back to the caddy, and a rather frozen looking partner, with the image of the inverted labrys still fresh in his mind.

* * *

Terminology

Labrys – A double headed axe. Although it had different meanings to different cultures, to the Romans it was the symbol of Justice. Inverted, it was the sign of anti-justice.

Leu Garoul – Old French for werewolf... and for those who may be tempted to correct my French:  
Loup-Garou: French, from Old French _leu garoul_ : _leu_, wolf (from Latin _lupus_; see **wkwo-** inAppendix I) + _garoul_, werewolf (of Germanic origin; see **w-ro-** in Appendix I).


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The possible implications of a werewolf in Toronto weighed heavily on Nick's mind as he slid into the seat of his '62 Cadillac. His partner was huddled up in the seat next to him, not-so-patiently waiting for Nick to start up the car and its antiquated heater.

Nick inserted the key into the ignition and was about to start up the Caddy when he felt a prickle on the back of his neck, as if they were being watched. He looked back at the crime scene, the sight dissolving into a night scope red.

"Hey, Nicky boy! Do you mind cranking up your ancient heater before you take that trip to the ozone?"

Nick started up the Caddy and shook his head slightly, returning to his normal, albeit enhanced, vision.

He didn't see anyone suspicious. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that they were the target of someone's gaze; a feeling that had never led him wrong before.

Checking for traffic in his rear view mirror, Nick pulled away from the curb, making a sharp u-turn before heading back towards the precinct.

Schanke fiddled with the heater, trying every possible setting and testing its effectiveness by holding his hands near the passenger side heater vent. "Well, at least this one ain't our problem."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Nick said, turning a knob on his dash all the way to the left.

"Whoa, wait a minute Sherlock. You said the deed was done with claws," Schanke reminded.

"Yeah."

"What do you mean, yeah?" Schanke asked, tightening his coat around him. "Is this the Caddy's original heater?"

Nick glanced at the heater/AC before returning his eyes to the road. "Yeah."

Schanke rolled his eyes and fell back against the seat, cursing Nick's thirty year old heater. "Do you mind explaining?"

"I don't have a problem with the cold," Nick said, smiling slightly.

Schanke ignored Nick's last remark. "Please tell me this is more than your famous intuition."

"This is more than your famous intuition." Nick was fully aware that he was pushing his partner's buttons, but ribbing Schanke was a welcome intrusion to his other thoughts.

"You do know your sense of humor is stuck in the eighties, don't you?"

'_The 1280s.'_ Nick chuckled. "There was a symbol carved into one of the trees near the body. What does that tell you?"

"That we're looking for two teenage lovebirds. Come on, Nick. Just because there was some chicken scratch on a tree near the body, doesn't mean that the killer was a person. That carving could have been done by anyone."

"I just-"

"And don't tell me you 'just have a feeling'. Unless your feeling can become tangible proof or fix this darn heater of yours, I don't care."

* * *

_Bedbur  
1589_

Nicholas had intended to leave Bedbur the following evening. Small towns were dangerous for creatures such as him. Naturally suspicious of travelers, a small town 'disturbance' would instantly garner him unwanted attention. He needed to find some sort of sustenance before he went on his way, but would have to be particularly careful in the way he went about it.

Exiting the inn he'd stayed at during the day, he took in a deep breath of humid night air. Re-energized by the darkness around him, he set out to find a little _entertainment._

It quickly became apparent that the streets were nearly deserted. Other than the occasional duffer, the whole town seemed to be indoors this evening. He made his way towards a pub he'd passed when he first arrived in early morning.

When he arrived at the small pub, he was once again surprised. Even the local watering hole was empty this night; almost that is. A few diehards lingered at the tables, and no sooner had he stepped foot into the pub did every eye turn to inspect their newest out of town visitor.

Ignoring their stares, Nicolas walked over to the barkeep and asked for a red wine. The man gave him a once over before nodding in acknowledgment.

Nicolas took a seat at an empty table in the back, and awaited his drink. One with his exceptional hearing didn't need to be sitting near a table to hear what the locals were saying.

Was it his fault that he couldn't help but eavesdrop?

Settling back in his chair, he listened as many locals' conversations switched to the topic of his arrival.

"Do you think he's here for the hunt?" one man quietly asked his companion.

His companion glanced Nick's way, trying his best to be subtle. "Doesn't look like an adventurous lad," the second replied. "More like a constable."

Nicolas smirked slightly at the comment, quickly covering his reaction by bringing a finger to his lips. His attention was drawn away from the conversation as a waitress brought over his wine.

He looked up at her, a slight smirk still gracing his lips. She set the wine down on the table, and Nick caught her hand in his as she began to move away. "My dear, I cannot help but notice the lack of patrons in this fine establishment."

She met his eyes briefly, gently withdrawing her hand from his grasp. "Beg pardon, Sir. Have you not heard?"

Nicolas raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Heard?" he asked after a moment, idly sliding a finger around the rim of his goblet.

"The killings," she answered, not quite meeting his eyes. "They have been going on for quite some time. The only outsiders who come to Bedbur now are the hunters."

'Hunters. This could be a potentially dangerous situation.'

"What manner of beast do they hunt?" Nicolas asked. His travels as of late had not afforded him the luxury of hearing the latest scuttlebutt. However, he was curious as to what caused the locals such obvious fear.

"A monster of a wolf, Sir. Over thirty are dead because of it, last time I heard." At Nicolas' look of surprise, she continued. "It comes in the night, and is near impossible to find in the daylight."

The last piece of information caused Nicolas' attention to increase ten-fold. He stilled his hand, and leaned forward. "How are these people being killed?"

"Bodies are torn asunder. This wolf does not kill for food. 'Tis not natural, if you ask me." She looked back over at the barkeep, who was watching her with a hawk's gaze. "If you will excuse me."

Giving her a pleasant smile, Nick bowed his head. "Of course."

These kills did not sound like the work of a vampire. Still, they didn't sound like the work of a wolf or human either.

It seemed that his time in Bedbur would not be uneventful after all.

* * *

Nick, not realizing it, had been staring at his partner Schanke for a full five minutes. Once they'd returned to the precinct, and brought Captain Cohen up to date, only paperwork awaited them for the night. That is, unless Natalie had a chance to begin her examination on the woman found in the park.

Looking down at the report in front of him, Nick scribbled in his ID number, and then let his eyes travel down the rest of the form. Sighing, he tapped the eraser end of his pencil on the desk and looked back up at his partner.

"Can I see those witness statements again?"

Schanke shrugged and plopped the small stack of papers in front of Nick. "Sure. Have at it."

Flipping through the statements, he came to the same conclusion as Schanke. There was simply nothing there for them to work with. The only thing the witness statements confirmed was the time of death, and that her body wasn't dumped; the latter was already obvious and the former didn't help them a lot.

Nick picked up the phone and dialed Natalie's number. The only way they were going to be able to move on the case was to get her report.

"Hi Nat. You have anything for us on the animal attack victim?"

"Hey Nick. Will a positive ID do for now?" she asked. "The victim's name is Amy Vanson. I've already sent several samples to the lab for analyses but I gotta tell ya… this is no ordinary animal attack."

"Isn't that obvious?"

"I need to talk to you."

"That bad, eh?" Nick asked, only half-joking.

"It's about an eight on my weird scale. I figure you can bump it up a couple notches."

"You can count on it."

There was a pause. "Are you trying to tell me this will surpass my ten? Because my ten includes you."

"How flattering," Nick said with a chuckle. "When can we expect the lab results?"

"They won't be back until tomorrow. Is this something that merits overtime?"

Nick shuffled the eye witness reports into a neat stack, secured them with a paperclip, and slidding them back onto Schanke's desk. "Sure does."

"I'll see you after my shift then. I better get back to work. The dead wait for no one."

"Tell me about it. Thanks, Nat." Nick hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair.

Schanke looked up from his paperwork. "So, what's the story?"

"Nothing conclusive on the cause of death, but we did get a positive ID. Her name was Amy Vanson. Nat should have something more for us tomorrow."

"Well, at least that's a place to start…"

"Great! You get on that. I'm going to go take a look at the crime scene one more time to see if I can find anything we missed," Nick said, practically leaping off his chair.

"And leave me here to do all the paper pushing? Oh no…" Schanke trailed off as Nick slipped on his coat and made for the exit. "Nick!" Schanke got up as Nick headed out of the bullpen, about to protest further, but some raised eyebrows from the other officers caused him to bite back his retort, and plop back down in his chair.

Looking over at his computer screen in resignation, he sighed and typed in his badge number and password. "Fine, Nick. Next dinner, I'm ordering extra garlic with it," Schanke grumbled to himself, logging in to his account. "And I'm eating it in your car."

* * *

"Today, gentle listeners, we talk about instinct."

The voice flowed over the radio waves in cool detachment. The slight crackle, no doubt a product of his old radio, did nothing to distract from the crispness of his sire's tone as he began one of his monologues.

"Instinct is what drives us. It's that nagging voice in the back of your mind, begging to be heard. It's that gut feeling; the unexplainable surge of distrust that settles upon you when you look at that genteel old man standing on the street corner. He's the murderer who looks, by all outward appearances, as sane as you or I.

"But have you ever stopped to ask yourself what that murderer's instincts are? Are his instincts the result of his repressive, over dominating mother, or are they strictly… _predatory _in nature? It is natural to be either predator, or prey. Tonight I ask you, my child, to choose which one you are. Whatever you choose to be, your enemy will surely be the other."

There was a long contemplative pause, before LaCroix's voice asked, "Are you a predator?"

Nick tore his eyes off the road and looked down at the radio, as if expecting his sire's face to be there in its place. Turning off the radio with a click, Nick returned his attention to the road, running nervous fingers through his hair.

"_What brings you here, lad?"_

_Nicolas met the beefy man's eyes, and allowed a bit of the vampire's arrogance to touch his lips. "I do so enjoy a good hunt."_

Nick inhaled deeply though his nose as his grip tightened around the wheel. He was extremely thankful that his cell phone rang, and broke him out of his depressing reverie.

Keeping one hand on the wheel, Nick reached into his coat and pulled out his cell. "Knight."

"Hey, Nick," Schanke greeted quickly. "Turns out our victim lived here in Toronto with her husband. Guess what the Captain wants you to do?"

"Notify the husband?" Nick queried.

"Chalk another one up for the man with the paperwork allergy! Is that karma or what?"

"Pure kismet. What's the address?"

* * *

Nick approached the small apartment building slowly, in no hurry to notify the soon to be grieving husband. It was funny, having done it several times and being centuries old, how he still found it difficult to tell someone their loved one was dead.

Hell, he'd been the cause of enough grief more times than he cared to count.

_She held Nicolas as if he would dissipate into a puff of smoke, her eyes pleading. "Please," her voice begged him, as her small frame fell against his chest. "Take me."_

_Nicolas toyed with a stray strand of her brunette hair. His eyes searched the surrounding garden, before meeting Michele's gaze._

_Taking her in his arms, he leaned down and spoke into her ear softly. "What does this life mean to you?" He felt his eyes change, dissolving into a reptilian green. Still, he held her softly, waiting for her reply._

_She pressed her face into his coat, clinging to it tighter, if possible. "Nothing. I could live and die like everyone here; normal, unfulfilled, unloved. You offer me a chance to die in bliss... in ecstasy." She took a deep breath, and then looked up at him again. To her credit, she didn't show any fear at the change in his eyes. "I could live a lifetime, and not truly live as I shall with you, if even for only a moment."_

Nick found himself standing in front of Mr. Vanson's door before he even realized that he'd entered the building. He took a moment to reorient himself to the current century, and double checked the apartment number prior to knocking on the door.

It was late, so Nick was patient after he knocked, waiting for a minute as he listened to the man inside, and the sound of a TV on low.

Mr. Vanson opened the door, and it was clear that he'd been worrying about his wife for some time.

"Mr. Vanson?"

The man nodded warily. Nick displayed his badge and introduced himself.

"Hello, I'm Nick Knight, Metro Homicide. I apologize for disturbing you at this late hour, but I'm afraid I have some bad news. Can I come in?"

Nick didn't want to officially tell the man of his wife's death in the apartment doorway; somehow it just seemed too cold.

Vanson nodded slowly, clearly aware of what was coming. He stepped aside, and ushered Nick in.

By the time they sat down in the small living room Vanson was a wreck, threatening to break down any second.

"This is about Amy, isn't it?" he asked quietly, sitting down heavily.

Nick sat down on the couch opposite Vanson, and nodded in confirmation. He was about to say more, but it was apparent that there was no need. He knew his wife was dead. Vanson put his head in his hands and choked back a couple sobs.

Waiting in silence, Nick observed the man's reaction. It would be important, later, if it was found that Amy had been murdered.

It took a couple minutes for Vanson to get himself together enough to speak, but when he did he met Nick's stare. "How?" he asked, a hint of anger in his voice.

'Odd.'

"We're not sure, but it appears to have been an animal attack."

"And you need information?"

Nick shook his head and stood. "Not tonight. But tomorrow, we'd like you to come into the station for some questions."

"Am I a suspect?"

Nick furrowed his brow at the misplaced question. "As I said, we believe this to be an animal attack."

"It's not," Vanson stated quickly, then almost seemed to regret the words a instant later. He sighed, and then appeared to come to some sort of decision. "I need to get this out, Detective Knight."

"Alright," Nick answered calmly, returning to his seat. He was curious as to what Vanson had to say, but his instinct told him that Vanson knew a werewolf was responsible.

"You're going to think I'm nuts," he began, twisting his wedding band nervously. "I… sometimes think I am."

Nick offered the man what he hoped was an encouraging smile. "Don't be afraid to tell me. I may surprise you."

Vanson gulped, and covered his face with one hand. "We'd moved to Toronto to get away from someone who was stalking my wife. We'd thought… we thought that we'd lost him."

"Any idea who the stalker might have been?" Nick asked, taking out a small notepad and jotting down the stalker angle.

"Not really. But Amy, she suspected that the man was connected with her brother's murder."

Nick quirked an eyebrow. "Her brother was murdered? Did it appear to be an animal attack as well?"

Vanson swallowed thickly. "Yes."

"What was his name?"

"Chris Jennings."

Nick scribbled down the name and shook his head, as if to himself. Why would a werewolf stalk and kill a family?

"Detective… I don't know how to say this next part. If… if you don't believe me then you can just chalk it up to a grieving mind but… my wife believed that – I mean, her brother had told her –" He stopped, embarrassed.

"You can tell me, Mr. Vanson."

"Eric," he said, taking a deep breath to steady his shaking hands.

"Eric."

"You have to understand. We come from a small town in Maine. There's been a long history of vicious animal attacks in the area. These animal attacks have never been explained by the local authorities. So perhaps it's not surprising that we came up with our own theories… and myths."

Nick was silent as the man seemed to struggle with the words. "This sounds so stupid but... the myth is that werewolves are responsible."

* * *

Author's Notes

Thanks to all of you who left feedback on the first chapter. Very much appreciated, thanks!

On thequestion about Loup-Garou/Leu Garoul... yes, loup-garou is french for werewolf. However, I went back even further than the 1500s in an attempt to get a true old french term for werewolf for our dear 800 year young vampire. ;)

From the American Heritage Dictionary.

Loup-Garou: French, from Old French _leu garoul_ : _leu_, wolf (from Latin _lupus_; see **wkwo-** in Appendix I) + _garoul_, werewolf (of Germanic origin; see **w-ro-** in Appendix I).

Thanks for the feedback, everyone!

-Scarlett


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Eric laughed at his own words, shaking his head. "It sounds so insane, I know. If… if I wasn't so upset about everything that's been happening I'm sure I wouldn't be telling you this."

Nick offered the man a reassuring smile, contemplating on the best way to proceed. "Not as insane as you think," he said, studying the man seated across from him. "Please continue. You said you moved here to get away from your wife's stalker. Where are the two of you from?"

"Originally? Collinsport - it's a small town in Maine."

"Any particular reason why you're here in Toronto?" Nick asked, writing down the name of the town. At this point, anything Vanson gave him could be important.

"Yeah. Amy was looking for a cousin of hers. She said that he was the only one who could help us… he's really the only family she has left."

"Her cousin lives here?"

Eric shrugged helplessly. "We - I don't know. I've never met him, and Amy hadn't seen or heard from him in years; since before we got married eleven years ago."

"His name?"

"Amy told me that he goes by the name of Carl Grant."

Nick jotted down the name. "He goes by?"

"He's a writer, apparently. It's his pseudonym."

"Oh, I see. What's his real name?"

Eric frowned, wrenching his hands together nervously. "Amy never told me."

'_That's suspicious.' _He wondered how much this mysterious cousin really knew, and why he'd hidden himself from the family so well. "You think he's in Toronto?" Nick asked after a moment.

"Even after hiring a private investigator we couldn't find out where Mr. Grant lived. All we know is that his publishing company and agent are here in Toronto; it's a long shot, I know, but it was all we had."

"What do you know about the… myth?"

"Only what everyone knows," Eric said, rubbing his face tiredly. "Detective, I'm not sure how much help I can be. I think you'll find your answers when you find Carl Grant."

"I hope so." Nick stood, seeing that Eric had been through enough questioning for one night. He tucked his pad of paper and pen away, and made his way to the door. "Thank you for talking to me tonight, Mr. Vanson. It really wasn't necessary, but I do appreciate it."

Eric took a deep breath, standing to see him out. He forced a pained smile as he opened the door. "I needed to tell someone."

Nick nodded, stepping out into the hall. He turned to face Vanson once more. "I'm very sorry about your wife." At Vanson's nod, Nick added, "I'll keep in touch."

As he walked out of the building, he realized that he had far more questions than he had answers. Still, he had a place to start.

Carl Grant.

Nick flipped open his cell phone and speed dialed Schanke's number as he walked back to the caddy.

"Hi-ya," Schanke answered after a couple rings.

"Hey Schanke. I need you to do a little leg work."

"This is new?" he balked. "You notify the deceased's husband?"

"Yeah, and he already gave us a lead. Carl Grant."

"The writer?"

"Yeah. You've heard of him?" Nick asked, but didn't wait for an answer as he opened his caddy's driver side door. "Get as much information as possible on him. Where he lives, his real name…"

"The whole shebang, eh?" Schanke interrupted. "So this is officially not an animal attack?"

"I don't know, Skank. It seems that Amy Vanson had a not-so-welcome secret admirer, and was currently in search of her long lost cousin..."

"Carl Grant," Schanke guessed.

"You got it."

* * *

_Portland, Oregon_

"Ah, Carl. How are you today?"

Carl Grant flashed his literary agent - Audrey - a charming smile, dropping a hefty manila envelope onto her cluttered desk. "Much better, now that I've got this damn thing written."

"Congrats," Audrey said, peeling her eyes away from the envelope long enough to give him a quick wink. She reminded him of a less glamorous Lucille Ball; her exaggerated facial expressions and flame red hair did nothing to dispel the thought.

Audrey placed a finger on the envelope, then slid it towards her on the desk, giving him a calculating look. "A detective gave me a jingle today. Get into any trouble lately?"

Carl made himself comfortable in the chair opposite Audrey, surprised by the news. He avoided the police as often as possible; they tended to be more hindrance than help when it came to the kind of mess he usually found himself in. Still, things had been quiet lately, so the phone call seemed rather out of the blue. "You know I've been good… lately."

She laughed lightly, picking up the manila envelope. "They called my Toronto office. They wanted your address."

"I trust you didn't give it?"

"You know the policy. Now, they do too."

Carl smiled, sinking further into his chair. "That's why I love you."

"I know," she said with a grin, flipping open the envelope's flap and pulling out the contents. "I gave them your cell number."

He nodded. "I suppose you had to throw the dogs a bone. Did they say what all this is about?"

"Naturally, they didn't say anything to me. Seemed anxious to talk to you though. You probably have a message waiting on your cell."

"Oh, aren't I lucky," he said, almost as if to himself. He had that gut feeling again; the feeling reserved for when all hell was just about to break loose.

But then, why should he be surprised? Things had been quiet lately… unnaturally quiet for him. He knew that it wouldn't last. It never did.

He stood as his agent happily flipped through the pages of his latest novel. His books were hot right now, and she knew that this meant a good commission for her.

"See you later, Carl," she said, seeing him stand to leave.

He turned to face her once he reached the door. "If you're lucky," he said with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows. He turned and closed the door behind him, leaving her office to deal with what was sure to be another Collins crisis.

He walked all the way to his car without turning on his cell. He was reluctant to spoil his good mood so early in what had started out as a promising day.

Sliding behind the wheel and closing the door after him, he sat there for a moment in silence before pulling the cell phone out of his pocket. He stared at it for a moment as a thousand possible scenarios of doom and destruction raced through his mind.

Damn it, would he never be free?

He feared that he knew the answer to that, but couldn't quite admit it.

Making up his mind, he tossed the cell onto the passenger seat, not even turning it on. He started up his car and popped in one of his favorite cassette tapes, feeling a bit nostalgic as he recalled a particular melody from an era gone by. He turned up the current music, determined to drown out the haunting strains that played in his mind, tugging at memories that were best left alone.

As he pulled out of the parking lot, he cast a quick glance at his cell, and then smiled wistfully as he returned his gaze to the road. "Yes. You can do without Quentin Collins for one more day, whoever you are."

* * *

_Toronto_

Nick arrived at his loft just before sunrise. Another day and night, and they'd gotten virtually nowhere in the case. Schanke was convinced that it wasn't even a case for the police department, and it would be closed by tomorrow. Nick hoped that would happen. However, things were seldom that simple.

He was still stewing about the werewolf murder as he sat on the couch with a glass of his preferred vintage.

Honestly, he wasn't sure how he was going to go about this. It was possible – and even likely – that the attack would only warrant a brief investigation as Schanke had suggested. After a couple days, if there were no more killings, it would be chalked up to another animal attack, end of story. If that was the case, he may actually be lucky. He didn't want to investigate this on an official level… or even an unofficial one for that matter. The last thing he wanted to do was track down, or cover for, a rogue werewolf prowling the streets of Toronto.

Grabbing one of his many remotes, he hit a button and watched the metal blinds shut out the first rays of sunlight appearing over the horizon.

"_So, you're here to hunt, are you?"_

"_I am," Nicolas said, taking a swallow out of his tankard._

_The man took a seat across from him, sizing Nicolas up. "Young Basil – he's the son of a farmer down the road – made a most disturbing discovery today. A child lay dead in their field; at least, what was left of the child."_

"_Most disturbing. Does this sort of thing happen often?" Nick asked, trying to hide his unease. He was a predator, it was true, but he drew the line when it came to children._

"_Eleven children are dead, all within the year."_

"_Eleven!" Nicolas exclaimed, setting his tankard down with a thud. _

"_All torn asunder, all taken from their homes. How do you explain that, Mr…?"_

"_Norwood. Nicolas Norwood," he supplied. "Am I supposed to be able to explain such dreadful happenings?"_

"_The town is most distraught. Something must be done about this vicious beast."_

"_I should say. I agree that the abduction and murder of the children is most alarming. I have not heard of such in all my travels abroad."_

Nick sat up with a start, realizing that he'd fallen asleep on the couch. Instantly, he knew that he was no longer alone in his loft. Turning to the left, he froze when he saw a woman standing by his stereo.

She was no ordinary woman, either. You could see right through her.

Now, he normally wouldn't be surprised by a ghost. He'd been tormented by enough of them in his long life, though he could never say with complete certainty that they weren't just creations of his own mind; delusions brought on by years of guilt.

What truly caught him off guard was not that she was a ghost, but that he didn't recognize her. If she had been a victim of his, conjured up by his troubled mind, he would surely recognize the lady. But he was positive that he'd never seen her before.

The woman was clearly not from this century, wearing a purple and white ankle-length dress in the style of the Victorian period. Her long auburn hair was pulled up into a loose ponytail, unusual for the era she must have come from. She was of medium height and build, with large brown eyes and a fidgety demeanor.

She wasn't looking at him, preoccupied with one of his many artifacts and relics on display throughout the loft. The particular object of interest was an old gypsy knife with intricate carvings on the handle. The small knife sat on a shelf beside his stereo, in front of some tapes and CDs.

Nick sat quiet and motionless, watch with some trepidation as the woman picked up the knife and turned it over in her hands. "Bawari," she said with a hint of fear in her tone. She put the knife down quickly.

Downing the rest of his dinner in one gulp, he watched her carefully. He set the glass on the table beside him, unsure if he should rush his unique house guest into introducing herself. It just didn't seem like a good idea.

Finally, she turned and met his gaze with her own.

She giggled softly, pointing at him in a childlike way. "You're not afraid of me," she stated happily, making her way closer to him as her attention flitted about the room. It reminded Nick of a curious two-year old who was interested in everything, like only a child could be.

Eventually she'd managed to meander her way to him, but her gaze was fixed on something behind him. He turned to see what had captured her attention so, and realized it was one of his paintings; a blood red sun, with fiery yellow rays bursting forth. One of his favorites. Returning his attention to the lady in front of him, he couldn't help but feel that she was a little 'off'. Nick wondered if it was possible for a ghost to be mentally challenged.

"Red," she whispered vehemently, the color disturbing her. She tore her stare away from the painting, looking at him with a glint of anger in her eyes. "Your painting is a lie."

Nick inhaled sharply, but said nothing. He had no idea how to answer such a statement, and decided not to try.

Her anger vanished as quickly as it had come. She shrugged as if nothing mattered, and her whole mood changed with it. No longer upset, she moved a bit closer to him.

"You have to find him," she said.

"Find who?" Nick asked, finally finding his voice.

She laughed, and fiddled with a stray strand of hair. "What a silly question. Why, the man you're looking for, of course."

Nick thought for a moment, and he couldn't help but wonder if this had anything to do with the werewolf murder. It seemed unlikely, but he asked anyway. "Carl Grant?"

She laughed again. "No, no silly. You can't find him if you don't have the right name!"

The woman walked slowly around his living room table, her head tilted up as if she found something interesting in the rafters. "Funny how he should use his brother's name. He must be feeling sad. So much to haunt one man."

She stopped her rambling and turned to Nick. "But you understand that far too well, don't you?"

Nick nodded once, swallowing hard. There was a hint of madness behind her eyes, but she was incredibly perceptive none-the-less. Perhaps knowledge came with being a ghost?

"If I'm not looking for Carl Grant, then who am I looking for? Who are you?"

"He's been so many people. So many. But he can't escape himself, just like I couldn't escape myself," she said, toying with the end of a ribbon on her dress. "You want to know my name? You're very sweet. But I mustn't give it to you!"

The lady was deranged, he was sure, but it was apparent she was trying to tell him something important.

"I'm a Collins, you know. My sister laughed at me when I told her. She did not believe a Collins would marry a gypsy." She shook her head. "But he did. Too bad. He knew and married me anyway. At least, I think he knew. Oh, I'll have to ask him."

Sensing her fragile mind was getting sidetracked he cut in gently, "Who am I supposed to find?"

She brought a hand to her breast, as if shocked. "Oh! Didn't I tell you? Oh dear, I'm always forgetting things. Did I ever introduce myself?"

Nick raised his eyebrows, then attempted to give her a kind smile, only half succeeding in the attempt. "No, I don't believe you have."

"Well, where are my manners? I am Jenny Collins," she said with a hint of arrogance in her voice, standing up a bit straighter as she spoke.

"A pleasure, Jenny. I'm Nick. Tell me, who am I supposed to find?"

"My husband. He'll help you! You'll need help. It won't go away."

"The attacks?"

"**He's** already seen you. **He** already has designs for vengeance. You'll need help." Jenny stopped, and then tilted her head as if she were listening to someone standing beside her. "I've already told him the name!" she declared hotly. Then, suddenly, she became frightened, as if the voice had told her something bad. She turned her attention back to Nick. "You must go to Collinsport!"

"Maine?" It was a stupid question, but he'd been thrown off by her behavior and wasn't quite sure what to say.

"Go now! **He** is there!" Jenny urgently, beginning to fade away. "Be careful of **him**. **He's** most dangerous."

"Be careful of who? Your husband? Or someone else? Wait!" Nick stood up, as if to stop her from leaving, but just as he did so Jenny faded away completely.

Nick collapsed back onto the sofa. His ghostly visitor had left him feeling completely bewildered. Clearly, she wanted him to go to Collinsport and find her husband. The thought left a heavy feeling in his stomach.

Jenny clearly died in the Victorian era; her husband couldn't possibly be alive… naturally anyway. The only conclusion Nick could come to was that she wanted him to find a ghost… or a fellow vampire.

For once he thought that a vampire just might be easier to deal with.


End file.
